


The Incident

by Arwriter



Series: Learned Behavior [7]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Also the author cried, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Flashbacks, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Hurt/Comfort, I made myself emotional rip, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Protect Virgil hours again, Recovery, its not that bad, like a lot, protective sides, slight miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwriter/pseuds/Arwriter
Summary: Sometimes, for every step forward he takes two steps back.Sometimes, it's scarily easy to spiral.Or: We're finally talking about the incident.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: Learned Behavior [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918165
Comments: 23
Kudos: 454





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You all know me by now, you know what you're signing up for.   
> There's some blood this chapter, but nothing too bad. Just be safe

_ “Virgil!” _

He didn’t even know what he’d done to warrant so much fury and disgust in the scream. It was enough to block out all rational thought, ice cold panic and fear overwhelming despite its awful familiarity. 

He didn’t even get a chance to apologize before he was hit, the hand swinging forward and finding purchase against his cheek, striking hard enough to send him stumbling backwards, throbbing pain shooting through his skull. 

_ “God, you  _ **_idiot!_ ** _ How are you  _ **_this_ ** _ stupid?”  _

Virgil tried to get away, confusion and terror crashing down until he couldn’t breathe, chest and throat too tight to get out any of the desperate pleas and apologies on his tongue. 

He couldn’t even make out who was talking, where exactly they were, how many people he’d made angry this time. 

There was a hand in his hair, grabbing, twisting and yanking him forward, ignoring his cries as it threw him into the cold, hard floor. 

“Please,” he choked out, his voice agonizingly small, too weak to hear. “Pl-please I'm sorry, I’m sorry--”

_ “Just shut up! This is why we have to keep doing this to you! Because you’re too  _ **_stupid_ ** _ to understand how to do anything right!”  _

There was another slap when he tried to raise his head, somehow worse than the first, and he felt something sharp dig into his arm, vision clearing just enough for him to make out the pile of glass shards he’d been shoved into. 

_ “All you do is hurt Thomas, and we have to do  _ **_this_ ** _ to clean up your stupid mess! Imagine what the light sides would do if they learned just how useless you are!”  _

The voice was furious, cold and mocking, each cruel word accompanied by another merciless strike, the pain quickly becoming unbearable, Virgil left to curl in on himself with the glass digging into his skin. 

And then, in a sudden twist of warped reality, the pain vanished and Virgil found himself curled up in the blankets of his own bed, trembling violently and drenched in sweat. 

But the ache from the beating still lingered, nothing more than fading phantom pain, but it made his heart twist with emotions he didn’t quite know how to identify. 

It had been a while since he’d had a nightmare that vivid, when the pain and panic bled into the real world, leaving him weak and terrified.

He’d worked up the courage to go to Logan about his recurring nightmares a couple of weeks ago, and the two of them had worked out several techniques to at least reduce the frequency of the dreams. 

It worked, to an extent, but it couldn’t get rid of them completely. He’d just gotten unlucky tonight. 

He shuddered, pushing himself up just enough to glance at the clock, collapsing back down with a groan. It was barely four in the morning- no one would be up for at least another three hours and there was no  _ way  _ he was waking someone up over a stupid dream. 

It wasn’t even anything particularly upsetting. Nothing he hadn’t handled before. Just a cruel reminder of a memory he’d lived through so many times before, vile words he’d heard too many times to count. 

It was fine. He just...he just needed to get a hold of himself, take a few deep breaths and stop  _ crying.  _

But it was no use. Not when he was alone, hunkered down in the dark, no prying eyes or pitying stares forcing him to hold back. 

The first sob broke from his chest, cruel, biting words still ringing in his ears, scream after scream always directed at him, always angry, and the dam broke. 

Virgil buried himself under his blanket and pressed his face into his pillow, hoping beyond hope it was enough to muffle the pathetic, wrenching sobs he couldn’t help to hold back. 

The last thing he needed was someone hearing him. He didn’t want them to see that after everything they’d done, all the “progress” they thought he was making, he was still just as broken as he was when they’d started. That a simple dream could revert him back to a trembling, terrified mess. 

It was stupid. He was safe now and he  _ knew  _ that. He  _ hadn’t _ deserved it and he was...working on believing that. 

But it wasn’t going to happen again. That was what mattered. He had his family now- his family who had shown him over and over again that he had no reason to be afraid, so there was no reason his stupid brain should be getting this worked up over a bad dream. 

It wasn’t even a particularly bad memory in comparison. It was fairly routine for how things had been back then. 

He might have ended up crying himself back to sleep, or he may have simply zoned out without realizing, his head too fuzzy to know for sure. Either way, by the time sunlight began to filter through his window, Virgil was shaky and exhausted, the room tilting dangerously when he raised his head off the soaked pillow. 

He thought he heard distant voices from out in the hallway, but it was impossible to make anything out over the pounding of his own head. 

He needed coffee. And, if he was feeling brave enough, maybe a hug. 

Virgil forced himself out of bed, legs a bit unsteady as he landed on the carpet and shuffled to the bathroom, content with the idea of throwing icy water in his face and hastily putting on some eyeshadow to cover up the fact that he’d been crying. 

He must not have done a very good job, because as soon as he made his way into the kitchen, wrapped up in his hoodie to hide the fading tremors, Patton looked up from brewing the coffee with gentle concern. 

“Morning, kiddo,” he said, smiling past the worry. “How’d ya sleep?” 

“Fine, I guess.”

Patton frowned but didn’t push, instead stepping aside to allow Virgil access to the coffee pot, an easy, early morning silence filling the kitchen as the moral side began gathering things together for breakfast. 

Virgil found himself holding his breath as he got his mug out of the cabinet, silently pleading for his hands to stop shaking. He couldn’t handle dropping anything right now. He  _ knew  _ it would be ok if he did, knew Patton wouldn’t be angry, but…

_ “Imagine what the light sides would do if they learned just how useless you are!”  _

He squeezed his eyes shut, setting his mug on the counter and willing himself to just  _ calm down.  _

They knew. They knew him, knew what had happened to him, and they...they loved him. For some unfathomable reason, they loved him. 

They wouldn’t hurt him. He didn’t have to worry. It was over, it was  _ over, it was-- _

“Kiddo?” 

Virgil’s eyes flew open, Patton’s voice pulling him from his spiral, and he realized with a start that he had stopped breathing entirely. 

“Sorry,” he said automatically, and then immediately flinched back. He was supposed to stop doing that, they’d told him to stop  _ apologizing  _ and he could never seem to listen. “S-sorry, I just...I- do you think you could...I mean, you don’t have to but I was just--” 

“Virgil,” Patton cut him off, moving slowly as he rested a hand on Virgil’s arm. “What do you need?” 

It was stupid. It was beyond stupid especially considering this was  _ Patton.  _ He should just be able to ask, but he’d been  _ especially _ needy lately and he wanted them to think he was doing  _ better- _ and what if they thought he was being  _ annoying--  _

Virgil took a breath, shutting down his own anxious thoughts. Nightmares made him extra paranoid. 

“Could I just...h-have a hug?” 

“Oh,  _ honey.”  _ Patton’s features instantly softened, worry morphing to a mixture of sadness and relief, and before Virgil could even blink he was being pulled into the familiar comfort of warm arms. “Of course, baby. You don’t have to be afraid to ask.” 

And Virgil was absolutely  _ not  _ going to start crying again. It was barely seven in the morning, he wasn’t going to do that to Patton, he put the moral side through too much as it was. 

But then Patton’s hand was cupping the back of his neck, idly running his fingers through Virgil’s hair, and there was absolutely no holding back the pathetic choking sound as he desperately tried to force back the sobs building up in his chest. 

“I’m here,” he said, Patton’s voice barely above a whisper. “I’m right here, honey. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” he muttered, quickly realizing that wouldn’t cut it. “Just...had a long night. It’s fine.” 

“Nightmare?” 

He thought about denying it, feeling ridiculously stupid and childish, but there really wasn’t a point. Patton wouldn’t ridicule him, and he’d already lost what little composure he had. 

But he didn’t entirely trust his own voice right now, not wanting to break down completely in the middle of the kitchen, so he just nodded against Patton’s shirt. 

The other side pulled away slightly, hands still gently clutching Virgil’s shoulders, and the anxious side warily met his warm gaze. 

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Patton said, the furthest thing from judgmental or annoyed. “You wanna talk about it?” 

And he didn’t. At all. Because it wasn’t just a stupid dream- it was a memory. It had  _ happened,  _ many  _ many  _ times before, and talking about it would just make it more vivid in his mind. He just wanted to forget. 

“Nothing to talk about,” he mumbled instead. “Just...same old stupid stuff.”

“It’s not stupid,” Patton said, but mercifully didn’t push. “You look exhausted...how about we set you up on the couch with a blanket until breakfast?” 

Virgil nodded again, allowing Patton to carefully take his hand and guide him into the living room and onto the couch. A part of him wished he could have just stayed wrapped in the hug for the rest of the morning, but he knew it was a selfish request. Everyone had things to do today, Virgil included. 

Besides, the weight of the blanket around his shoulders was nice, and the quiet, mindless noise of the television created a welcome distraction from his thoughts. 

Logan came down the stairs just a few moments later, looking a bit more disheveled than usual, offering Virgil a quick and quiet greeting before disappearing into the kitchen, probably in search of coffee. 

Roman followed soon after, still dressed in his pajamas with his hair a mess. Virgil expected him to follow Logan straight into the kitchen like he did every morning, so it was a bit of a surprise when the Prince was suddenly standing in front of the couch. 

“Scoot over, J-Delightful.” 

Virgil blinked, momentarily frozen. “What?” 

“It’s  _ early  _ and I’m  _ cold,”  _ Roman complained. “So scoot over or I’m commandeering your lap.” 

Virgil decided not to mention that he really wouldn't mind the latter option, instead moving over just enough for Roman to fit, making sure there was enough room for both of them under the blanket. 

Apparently making room on the couch didn’t even  _ matter,  _ because in mere seconds Roman was completely sprawled out, somehow ending up with his head in Virgil’s lap and doing a very poor job of pretending to be asleep. 

Virgil didn’t know if he was still visibly distressed from his dream and obviously in need of physical contact, or if Roman just had impeccable timing. 

Either way, he didn’t exactly have any plans to move. 

The rest of the morning passed relatively peacefully. Logan had been up late working on scheduling and had woken with a headache, so the volume was kept low, the conversation quiet and lighthearted. 

It also, thankfully, kept a majority of the attention off of Virgil, although he was certain nothing could stop the worried glances Patton kept throwing his way. Worried glances that were entirely unnecessary. 

Yeah, he’d had a bad night and an unfortunately vivid dream. But that didn’t mean he needed to be watched over like he was about to break at any second. 

But no one put him on the spot, no one asked any questions, like they knew he could shatter under too much attention right now.

It was just a stupid dream, already rapidly fading. He was safe. 

And then Roman dropped a glass on the floor. 

It didn’t even break, just cracked a bit along the side, but the sudden noise was enough to shock the room into sudden silence. 

Virgil jumped, guilt and fear instinctually curling up in his gut despite the fact that he hadn’t even  _ done  _ anything. And he knew- he  _ knew  _ that even if he had it wouldn’t be a problem. 

But then Logan was sighing, shoulders tense like he was angry, whirling around to face the Prince’s sheepish smile. 

_ “Dammit,  _ Roman,” he snapped, unexpectedly curt. “Can’t you be more careful?” 

Roman blinked, momentarily frozen where he was bent over to pick up the fallen cup, for once clearly at a loss for a retort. 

“Language please,” Patton spoke up, and Virgil wanted to shrink away from the nervous glance he sent. “Let’s be a bit more gentle, ok? Roman didn’t mean to- there’s no reason to get angry over an accident. Right?” 

Logan seemed to notice his mistake before Patton even finished, straightening up and flashing Virgil an apologetic look before turning back to Princey. 

“I...apologize, Roman,” he said carefully. “Genuinely. I am not angry, I simply...am still nursing a bad headache and lost my temper for a moment.” 

Roman had already gotten over his shock it seemed, picking up the glass and fixing the crack with a wave of his hand, offering Logan an easy smile. 

“Don’t sweat it, Teach,” he said. “I should’ve been more careful. I think the dishes are balanced all weird.” 

“Well, we will...have to look into fixing that when we have time.” 

The easy silence was back, just for a moment as Roman filled the now intact cup with orange juice and made his way back to the kitchen table. 

“You don’t have to do that, Logan,” Virgil muttered, staring intently down at his eggs and toast. “You don’t...I’m fine.” 

“I know,” Logan said earnestly. “But whether or not you are in the room, Virgil, anger is not an appropriate reaction. You can be a...welcome reminder of that. So...thank you.” 

And Virgil had absolutely no idea what to say to that, but Patton was smiling and Roman looked relieved, so he managed a tiny nod and a timid smile of his own before turning back to his breakfast. 

It was a...surprisingly nice thought, he realized, and one he hadn’t really ever allowed himself to consider. That he could possibly be helping them even half as much as they helped him. 

He couldn’t really wrap his head around  _ how  _ being a pathetic mess all the time could possibly be of benefit to anyone, but...but Logan didn’t just say things for the hell of it. 

Things should have been fine after that. 

Virgil’s hands had thankfully stopped shaking by the time they cleared the table and washed the dishes, a hot shower helping clear the last of the fog from his mind. 

By mid afternoon Roman had disappeared into the imagination with colorful goodbyes and promises to return with stories for days, and Patton had teamed up with Virgil to convince Logan to let himself nap for at least a few hours. 

As much as Logan needed the rest, Virgil couldn’t help the tight, anxious feeling that curled around his chest when Patton was summoned to assist Thomas, likely to be gone for the next few hours at least. 

That left Virgil alone in a far too quiet mindscape, left to his own devices for a late lunch. He wasn’t particularly good at cooking, not to mention how stressed it made him when doing it on his own, but he didn’t want to risk the moral side’s disappointment at finding out he hadn’t bothered to eat again. 

(Patton had discovered Virgil’s habit of skipping meals fairly early on, looking strangely horrified when the anxious side explained he wasn’t used to have multiple meals a day, usually just sneaking snacks at convenient times)

But he was fairly sure he could manage putting together a sandwich without messing up too horribly. And maybe, if it turned out, he could leave something in the fridge for Logan in case the other side woke up before dinner. 

He should have been paying closer attention. That was his  _ job,  _ after all. He was Anxiety, he needed to search for every possible threat, every way something could go wrong, every way to prevent everything from falling apart.

But he wasn’t even thinking, even after what had happened this morning, letting his tired mind wander as he opened the cabinet and reached for a glass. 

It  _ should  _ have been fine. He never would have been able to be  _ near  _ anything glass if his grip wasn’t steady, always plagued with too many paranoid thoughts. 

His fingers had just brushed the glass when there was a sudden thud from upstairs. Nothing out of the ordinary- probably just Roman returning from his realm or Logan waking up- but of  _ course  _ it made Virgil flinch and jump backwards, knocking over a second cup as he moved, both plummeting to the ground too fast for him to even try and react. 

The shelf was higher than the one Roman had reached for, and in the blink of an eye both cups had shattered, the deafening crash leaving behind a sea of glass shards littering the kitchen floor. 

For a horrifying moment, Virgil couldn’t move. Everything had gone cold, silent, his eyes glued to the scattered glass, briefly wondering if this was all just another cruel dream. 

_“You’re too stupid_ _to understand how to do anything right!”_

The voice snapped him out of his daze, old memories and almost forgotten panic rushing back all at once, screams and threats and disgust being hurled mercilessly… 

It had been an accident. Just a stupid mistake. It was ok, right? They told him it would always be ok. They told him…

_ “How are you  _ **_this_ ** _ stupid?”  _

He flinched, digging his nails into his hands as he felt himself begin to tremble. He’d made so many mistakes. Too many. And he’d never actually  _ broken  _ anything before. 

He wasn’t Creativity, he couldn’t just snap his fingers and put it all back together. He’d made a mess. He’d ruined everything and someone was going to be mad, someone would end up...end up…

Virgil dropped to his knees, forcing his shaking hands to move, working to gather all the glass into a pile. He didn’t have time to find a broom. If he cleaned it up quickly, covered up his mistake well enough, then maybe they would never find out. He could get away with it. 

It was risky. He’d tried it before, and lying about mistakes always led to something worse. But he had to try. He couldn’t...he couldn’t go through any punishments right now. 

_ “God, you idiot!”  _

There was  _ so much  _ glass. How had no one heard the crash? 

_ “You break everything you touch, don’t you see that?”  _

He ruined it. He ruined it  _ again.  _ They were right, he couldn’t do anything correctly. He’d been safe, he’d been trying so hard to be good, and look what he’d done. 

_ “Useless!”  _

_ “God, you’re pathetic, Virgil.”  _

_ “All you do is hurt Thomas! Why shouldn’t we hurt you too?”  _

The voices overpowered his own labored breathing, drowned out the rest of the world, memory after memory replaying over and over again, hatred and fear trying to choke him. 

But it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. All he needed to do was clean up the glass, make sure it looked like he had never stepped foot anywhere near the kitchen, and then he would be safe. They wouldn’t have to hurt him. 

Virgil wasn’t even sure who he was afraid of at this point. 

It took longer than it should have since his hands were shaking so badly, but he didn’t stop, gathering up as much of the shards as he could into his hands and dumping them into the trash can, ignoring the way the glass cut his skin, slicing open his palms. 

He could worry about that later. He could barely feel the pain underneath his rising panic, and it would be nothing compared to what would happen if he was caught. 

He didn’t stop, fumbling blindly for the remaining shards, stopping only to wipe the floor with his sleeves when his blood started to drip onto the tiles. He refused to let himself cry, even as his vision blurred, knowing the noise would only attract attention. 

It was taking too long. He was too  _ slow,  _ and any second now someone would walk in and see what he’d done, what he was trying to  _ hide.  _

But then...then he couldn’t feel any more glass, just smooth, ice cold tile beneath now blood soaked fingers, and something close to relief wormed its way up to the surface, past the panic and the pain. 

The stinging in his hands had increased to a fiery agony at this point, the pain pulsing and stabbing like tiny knives, blood flowing down his arms and soaking into his hoodie, but it didn’t matter. His mess was gone. He could get away with this. 

Now if only he could stop shaking like a coward and find a place to lie low. 

Virgil covered his hands with his sleeves (the last thing he wanted was to get his blood everywhere) and used the counter to drag himself to unsteady feet. 

He couldn’t panic, couldn’t let it all set in. Not yet. Not until he was safe. 

There were sounds coming from the living room, and Virgil quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets, biting back a hiss of pain and quickly making his way out the door. 

Patton was in the living room fiddling with the tv remote, and Virgil suddenly realized he had no idea how long he’d spent cleaning up the kitchen. 

Had someone noticed he wasn’t around? Had anyone been close enough to hear? Did they suspect something? Did someone already  _ know?  _

“Hey, kiddo!” Patton greeted, cheery and welcoming as ever, but Virgil felt something freeze in his chest, ice cold fear wrapping around his heart and  _ squeezing--  _

“H-hey, Pat.” He couldn’t panic. Not now. He couldn’t hurt Thomas, couldn’t let them see how weak he still was. He could hold out. 

“Logan’s feeling better, but he’s already gone back to work,” Patton continued, tossing the remote on the couch and sitting down. “I’m gonna start dinner in about an hour, that alright with you?” 

Virgil blinked, hearing the blood squelch beneath his fingers as he twisted his hands into fists, desperately trying to keep himself from shaking. 

He knew. Patton  _ knew.  _ There was no way he didn’t, no way he wasn’t already angry. He was just waiting to see if Virgil would lie so the punishment could be worse. 

He needed to get out, get  _ away, get as far away as possible and hide until he wasn’t angry anymore--  _

“Actually I, uh, I’m not feeling great,” he forced himself to say, hoping it was believable. “I don’t think I’m...I’m gonna be hungry. I might just go lay down.” 

“Oh, sweetie I’m sorry.” He moved to stand, stopping when Virgil couldn’t hide how his shoulders tensed. “Do you...need anything?” 

Virgil was already moving towards the stairs, shaking his head, ignoring the strange look Patton was watching him with. The pain in his hands was growing unbearable and it was getting harder and harder to breathe, memories of pain and yelling he suddenly couldn’t convince himself wasn’t coming. 

“I’m good,” he said. “I-I’m fine, I’ll just be in my room.” 

And then he was gone, stumbling up the stairs before Patton could say anything else, breaths now coming in shallow, trembling gasps. 

His hoodie pockets were soaked by now, hands sticky and soaked and somehow still bleeding, but right now he needed to figure out where he could go to be out of everyone's way, stay hidden until the anger faded and his punishment lessened. 

Roman was apparently still gone and Logan’s door was closed, but Virgil could hear the faint sound of muffled music coming from inside the logical side’s room, carefully sneaking past without a sound. 

He made it to his own bedroom, pausing outside his door with a shaky hand hovering above the doorknob, blood still coating his fingers. 

What was he  _ thinking?  _ He’d had too many failed attempts at hiding in his room, yelling and banging outside his door, their fury overwhelming as he was grabbed and dragged away from his bed…

He backed away from the door, glancing back down the hall to make sure he hadn’t been seen, making his way to the closet at the end of the hall. 

_ “Did you really think you could hide?”  _

Virgil pulled the door open, wincing at the audible creak, and ducked inside, squeezing his eyes shut as he locked himself in the near total darkness. 

_ “You’re such a little coward! God, you pathetic waste of space!”  _

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t  _ breathe-  _ they were choking him, screaming and grabbing for him, all of them  _ furious-- _

But...they weren’t. They  _ weren’t  _ upset with him. Not yet, anyway. Logan, Roman, and Patton wouldn’t...even if they  _ were  _ angry it wouldn’t be anywhere near as bad as it used to be. 

Right? 

They’d hated him once before. They’d all lashed out, reprimanded him for doing something wrong. But they said they wouldn’t. They’d  _ promised.  _ They’d said he...that he…

He was up against the wall now, pressed tight into the tiny closet’s corner, feeling lightheaded and far away as he fell into hyperventilating, chest aching and screaming for air, the pain momentarily overshadowing the cuts on his hand. 

_ “Anxiety!”  _

_ “Trying to hide only makes it worse, you know.”  _

Virgil didn’t remember sinking to the floor, but suddenly he was curled up in the dark closet, panic and fear taking their hold, sobs finally breaking free, his aching body wracked with violent tremors. 

_ “Will you shut up?”  _

Virgil flinched, despite there being nothing but his own twisted memories, biting down on his sleeves to try to muffle his sobs. 

He jolted at the sudden pressure on his hands, the pain from a particularly deep cut flaring to life, and for just a terrifying second the world seemed to tilt. 

He curled up into as tight of a ball as he could, head buried under his hood, sobbing and shaking in the corner of the closet. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some blood, not too graphic descriptions of injuries, and lots of crying.  
> I made myself upset writing this you guys.

Roman didn’t get back until after dinner, the sun setting with brilliant orange light in the windows, still far too hopped up on adrenaline and brimming with new ideas to even think about eating yet. 

He was sprawled out on the couch with his feet in Logan's lap, despite the logical side’s halfhearted protests, lamenting about his recent adventures and the inspiration they’d brought for the newest script. 

Logan was pretending not to be listening, but Roman caught sight of an almost invisible smile, pride blossoming in his chest as he continued. 

Virgil hadn’t come down in a few hours at least, apparently locking himself in his room due to a stomach ache earlier in the afternoon, and Patton’s worry had finally taken over, the moral side heading into the kitchen to heat up a plate of leftovers to take upstairs.

“Make sure to get him some water, too,” Logan called after him, momentarily silencing Roman’s tale. “He needs to stay hydrated.” 

For a few moments, nothing changed, Roman falling back into his story, Logan’s attention switching from the creative side to the open book in his lap, the prince’s voice easily drowning out the hum of the microwave in the next room. 

“Logan?” Patton called suddenly. “Did you...you didn’t break a cup or something today, did you?” 

Logan froze, looking up from his book to meet Roman’s suddenly worried gaze, the living room plunged into an uneasy silence. 

“No,” he answered carefully, slowly pushing Roman’s legs off of him. “Why?” 

A beat of silence, followed by a bit of shuffling. “There’s a lot of glass in the trash...and I don’t--”

Roman was already off the couch before Patton yelped, the creative side racing into the kitchen and nearly crashing right into Patton, who’d been rushing for the living room. 

“There’s blood,” he said, before anyone could ask any questions. “There- there’s blood...a lot of blood on the glass in- in the trash can I...Virgil, I- I didn’t realize he was--” 

“Try to remain calm,” Logan said, already making his way towards the stairs. Patton grabbed Roman’s hand, the two following close behind. “We don’t know what happened yet.” 

They made it to Virgil’s room, the door closed and the room seemingly quiet, and Roman stepped back to allow Patton to knock, well aware his own presence could possibly be overwhelming. 

“Virgil?” Patton called, unable to keep the slight nervous tremble out of his voice. “Can we come in, kiddo?” 

There was no reply, no sound from the other side of the door, and Roman didn’t miss the way Logan’s frown deepened at the lack of a response. 

“We aren’t mad, baby,” Patton added, hand hovering over the doorknob. “We just wanna make sure you’re not hurt.” 

After a moment of silence and an encouraging nod from Logan, Patton pushed open the thankfully unlocked door, (Roman had been more than ready to kick it down if he had to) freezing in his tracks as soon as he stepped inside. 

Peering over the moral side’s shoulder, Roman could see why. 

Virgil’s room was empty, bed still made and lights off, everything almost eerily still and silent. The bathroom was just as empty, the lights off and the door left ajar. 

Patton whirled around, eyes wide and already filling with terrified tears. “Logan--” 

“Both of you remain calm,” Logan instructed, like he wasn’t obviously seconds away from losing it himself. “Patton, come with me downstairs.” 

“But he--” 

“I need to get the first-aid kit,” he said. “Roman, will you keep looking up here? If we can’t find him, we’ll go to Thomas.”

It was fine. It was  _ probably  _ fine. Virgil’s room was likely just amplifying their stress, and making them all freak out for no reason. They’d find him, and he’d pretend to be annoyed at all the attention and worry, but Roman wouldn’t be able to help pointing out the anxious side’s rising blush. 

That was how it always was. 

Roman double checked Virgil’s room as the others made their way back downstairs, just to be safe, frantically checking under the bed and behind the shower curtain, all too aware of Virgil's habit of finding strange places to nap or zone out to music. 

But the room was vacant, abandoned, and Roman couldn’t escape out into the hall fast enough, carefully shutting the door behind him. 

Unwittingly, his mind traveled back to the last time they couldn’t find Virgil. When he’d tried to disappear, duck out for good, all because Roman never bothered to offer him a shred of kindness, none of them caring enough to see just how badly he was  _ hurting-- _

He almost didn’t hear it, so caught up in his own thoughts and panic, but the tiny, choking sound from the closet at the end of the hall snapped him out of his own head. 

“Virgil?” Roman called, heart sinking when there wasn’t a reply. “You over there, Hot Topic?” 

His only answer was faint, labored breathing, barely audible, and Roman quickened his pace, taking a shaky breath before pulling open the closet door. 

The first thing he saw was Virgil, huddled up in his usual patchwork hoodie, pressed tight into the closet’s limited space. 

The initial relief at finding the other side safe quickly vanished when Roman took a step closer, dread clawing at his throat as he took in the sight. 

Virgil had curled up into a tight ball, visibly trembling, eyes only half open and staring ahead at nothing, his gaze distant and glassy. His hands were pressed over his ears, and running down his arms…

Oh, god. That...that was a lot of blood. 

“Virgil! Virgil, can you hear me?” 

If Roman was a bit more put together at the moment, he would have moved slower or gone to get Patton or Logan to coax the anxious side out of his hiding place. 

But all he could see was the blood- the fact that Virgil was  _ hurt  _ and Roman needed to  _ help.  _ He couldn’t afford to wait. 

Carefully, he dropped to one knee and reached forward, placing a gentle hand on Virgil’s leg. 

The reaction was immediate, Virgil jolting under the touch pressing back even further against the wall, bloody and cut up hands held up like he was trying to protect himself. 

His eyes met Roman’s, growing wide in genuine terror, and the prince felt his heart break at the sight. 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil was saying before Roman even had a chance to open his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry--” 

“It’s alright,” Roman tried, doubting Virgil even heard. “But you’re bleeding, Virge. We gotta take care of that, ok? Logan can’t patch you up until you come out.” 

Virgil shook his head, frantic. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to break it, it- it was an accident I swear, I tried to- tried to clean it up, I thought--”

Roman swore under his breath, glancing at the still empty hallway behind him. He  _ knew  _ he shouldn’t ever rush an attack like this, well aware Virgil was terrified and unable to think clearly but…

But aside from the bloody gashes across his palms and fingers, Roman could see a few smaller pieces of glass still wedged in the broken skin. He’d had those wounds for a few hours now at least. They didn’t have  _ time.  _

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment. “You’ll be alright.” 

And then, without giving Virgil a chance to process the movement, Roman cupped one hand under Virgil’s legs, the other around his back, and lifted him off the floor, holding him to his chest. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d thought would happen, but he certainly hadn’t expected Virgil to scream and flail like Roman had come at him with a weapon. 

“Please don’t  _ please,”  _ he was begging, breaths quickly dissolving into frantic wheezes. “I’m sorry I hid I...I- I didn’t mean to lie I just thought...I thought…”

They were both talking in circles, desperately apologizing over each other, Roman holding him tighter as he made his way down the hall, Virgil fighting blindly to break from Roman’s hold. 

“Virgil!” 

Patton was bounding up the stairs first, hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes when he made it to the top step, Logan hot on his heels. 

“Roman, what are you--” 

“He’s bleeding, Logan!” Virgil was burying his head in Roman’s chest, even as he fought to escape, refusing to even glance at the others. “I didn’t...I don’t know what to--”

“Bring him into the bathroom,” Logan said, pushing past Patton, first-aid kit in his hand. “ _ Hurry.”  _

Roman followed, flashing what he hoped was a reassuring smile to Patton, who was trying to comfort Virgil with words that clearly weren’t getting through. 

“Sit him on the counter,” Logan instructed, turning on the sink and setting the metal box down on the closed toilet seat. “Try to keep him calm.” 

That was easier said than done. As soon as Virgil lifted his head from Roman’s chest his fighting increased tenfold, thrashing and crying and begging as Roman and Patton struggled to keep him still. 

What did he think they were trying to  _ do  _ to him? 

“Roman,” Logan said, running a clean towel under the faucet. “I need you to get behind him and hold him still. Patton, keep him from kicking please.”

Patton blinked, frozen in the doorway. “I- I can’t--” 

“Patton,  _ please.”  _ Roman had maneuvered himself until he was standing behind the anxious side, arms wrapped around his chest and shoulders as Roman carefully reached for his bloody hands. “Try and get him to focus. Tell him he’s safe.” 

The request was enough to snap Patton out of his own panic, the moral side wiping away his gathering tears and rushing towards the others. He held down Virgil’s legs with one hand, cupping his jaw in the other while Logan carefully but firmly took a hold of his wrists. 

“Hey, honey,” Patton whispered, voice breaking when Virgil only choked back a terrified sob. “Just focus on me, alright? Look at me, sweetie. It’s Patton. It’s Dad. I’m right here.”

For a second Virgil’s breathing slowed, just a fraction. And then he flinched so hard Roman nearly lost his grip. Glancing over at the sink, he winced when he saw Logan carefully taking a pair of tweezers to the pieces of glass still stuck in Virgil’s skin. 

“I’m so sorry, Virgil,” he muttered, barely audible over Virgil’s breathing picking up again. “It will be over soon.” 

Thankfully, there wasn’t too much leftover glass in his skin, Logan soon setting aside the tweezers and guiding Virgil’s hands under the water. But still, Roman couldn’t imagine how badly that hurt, or what Virgil thought was happening in his panicked state. 

“I need to clean the cuts to keep them from getting infected,” Logan said after a minute, rummaging through the first-aid kit. “Hold him very still, please.” 

There was barely a warning, just a slight nod from Logan a few seconds later before he was pressing something against the skin and Virgil jumped, frantically trying to break away, crying out against the pain. 

There was a sob that might have been from him or Patton, but there was no way for Roman to know for sure. Not when he was so focused on not letting Virgil go, not until he wasn’t a danger to himself. 

“Please,” Virgil choked out, breathing still too quick and unsteady even as Patton counted out breathing exercises. “Pl- please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Focus on my voice, honey.” 

“I- I’m sorry for hiding, I’m sorry, it...I- I won’t do it again, I promise, I’m sorry just  _ stop _ , please  _ please,  _ I’m sorry…” 

And Roman felt his heart  _ shatter.  _

Virgil thought this was a _punishment_. He thought they were hurting him on _purpose_. 

“Logan--” 

“I  _ know,  _ Roman,” Logan snapped, a distinct wavering to his voice. “I’m almost finished.” 

Logan kept working, cleaning and wiping the blood away with quick but careful movement, growing visibly more tense with each one of Virgil’s pleads. 

“You’re ok, honey,” Patton kept saying. “You’re ok. I’m right here, you’ll be ok soon. We’re all here. We’re gonna help you.” 

Roman couldn’t seem to find his voice, just held on tight and rested his forehead against Virgil’s trembling shoulder, listening to his racing heart and ragged breathing, hoping the contact would do something to ground him. 

It felt like hours- hours of Virgil begging his family not to hurt him, Roman helpless to do anything but watch- before Logan finally finished, wrapping his hands in bandages. 

“All done,” Roman said softly. He loosened his hold when Virgil, still trembling, went almost limp in his grasp. “You’re ok, Virge. You did so well, I’m so  _ so  _ sorry.” 

Virgil didn’t respond, eyes still wide and terrified, letting out a noise that sounded like a desperate whimper. 

Patton took a careful step back, letting his hands fall to his side. “Let’s get you to bed, alright kiddo?” 

Virgil still didn’t speak, his apologies having fallen silent since Logan stopped treating his wounds, the anxious side only squeezing his eyes shut and hunching his shoulders, like he was waiting for more pain. 

Roman took the hint and gently gathered Virgil into his arms again, blinking away tears when he flinched at the movement. 

They took Virgil back to his room, Logan bringing sleeping pills and a glass of water from the medicine cabinet. 

It took a few moments to convince Virgil to take them, the anxious side frantically scrambling to get as far away from the others as he could as soon as he was set down on his bed. 

But eventually, (mostly because Virgil seemed terrified of what would happen if he didn’t comply) they got him tucked under the blankets, still teary and shivering, refusing to open his eyes. 

He wouldn’t let them go anywhere near him, Patton having to step out of the room when he realized Virgil’s breathing only quickened the closer they got to the bed. 

It took some time, Logan doing what he could to keep Virgil’s breathing under control, Roman and Patton hovering in the doorway, but the anxious side’s eyes eventually slipped closed, succumbing to his exhaustion. 

“I should have checked on him,” Patton said when they were back in the living room, squeezing Roman’s hand so tight he thought it might bruise. “He said- he...I should have  _ known  _ to--” 

“It’s not your fault, Pat,” Roman said. “You were just giving him some space. And he’ll be fine when he wakes up, right Logan?” 

He didn’t answer, the logical side lowering himself onto the armchair and reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

It wasn’t until his breath caught in his throat, Logan’s hand suddenly pressed against his mouth to muffle any sound, that Roman realized something was wrong. 

Patton was up off the couch in an instant, Roman close behind, but Logan quickly shook his head, moving away from outstretched hands. 

He took a few heavy breaths, slowly moving his hand away from his mouth, gaze locked on the floor. Roman could see how red and watery his eyes were, even as he blinked rapidly to get rid of the gathering tears. 

“Apologies,” Logan said, and Roman’s breath caught at how broken he was trying not to sound. “Please...please disregard…”

“Honey,  _ no.”  _ Patton kneeled in front of the chair, a steadying hand on Logan’s knee, and Roman moved to clutch at his shoulder. “Don’t keep it in. You’re allowed to be upset.” 

Logan shook his head again, looking anywhere but Patton. “I am...I am logic. I am not supposed to--” 

“Will you cut the bullshit, Specs?” 

Patton gasped. “Roman!” 

Roman didn’t bother correcting his language. He squeezed Logan’s shoulder, knowing it helped to calm Virgil down and only able to hope it did the same for the logical side. 

“You’re  _ allowed  _ to feel,” he said. “You can feel  _ whatever  _ you want  _ whenever  _ you want. You don’t need to pretend like you don’t.” 

Logan shook his head once again, even as a few stray tears escaped and Roman wiped them away with his thumb. “It’s...it isn’t  _ logical  _ for me to be--” 

“Emotions don’t have to make sense,” Patton said gently. “And no one’s going to think of you any differently for feeling.” 

“You were trying to help Virgil,” Roman added. “You were trying to save him, and he thought you were hurting him. I’d say it’s fairly  _ logical  _ to be upset after that.” 

And that was apparently enough to break the dam, a choked sob escaping from Logan, and this time he didn’t try to fight against it. 

Roman rubbed his back as he tipped forward, forehead resting against Patton’s chest, the moral side crying along with him as he cupped the back of Logan’s neck. 

“It’s ok,” he muttered. “We’ll be ok. It’ll be better in the morning.” 

Logan curled further into Patton, clutching at his blue shirt. “I hurt him, I...I had to  _ hurt  _ him.” 

“You were helping him,” Roman corrected, shifting positions to wrap his arms around both Logan and Patton. The angle was a bit awkward, but they seemed to relax slightly. “If you waited any longer, it just would have been worse. He’ll understand that when he calms down.” 

“What if he doesn't?” 

Roman wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to being the one to calm Logan down, to talk him through a problem. As relieved as he was that Logan wasn’t forcing himself to stay put together...he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. 

“Then we’ll figure it out,” Patton jumped in, glancing up to smile through his tears. “Because we love him. And that’s never gonna change.” 

They were silent after that and Roman forced himself to relax under Patton’s optimism, as forced as it clearly was. There was no way to tell what Virgil would think when he woke up. 

Not for the first time, Roman thought about grabbing his sword and hunting down each and every person who had ever dared to lay a hand on Virgil with malicious intent, every person who had ever let him feel worthless and unwanted. 

But then again, if he were to go that far he’d have to turn his own blade on himself. 

Things were different now, though. And while he and Virgil hadn’t always gotten along in the past, Roman had never  _ once  _ considered hurting him. No one deserved the treatment Virgil had been given. 

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend how anyone could see Virgil- sweet, scared, and caring  _ Virgil _ , and decide they wanted to hurt him. Break him down until he was terrified of making the smallest mistake, convinced no one could ever accept him. 

“He didn’t deserve it,” Roman said suddenly, not really meaning to speak out loud. “What they did to him. Virgil didn’t deserve that.” 

“Of course he didn’t,” Patton said, with so much raw pain and hurt that Roman was once again forcibly reminded that Patton wasn’t just at the core of happy emotions. “But he’s safe now. Sometimes he’s just...gonna have to be reminded of that.” 

And they would remind him. Over and over again if they had to. Like Patton said, they would figure it out. 

  
  


When Virgil woke up, it was to a foggy head and a throbbing, itching sensation in his hands. 

He finally blinked open his eyes when, after trying to scratch at his palms, he found only tightly woven bandages and a new spark of white hot pain up his arm. 

Slowly, careful not to put any weight on his hands, he sat up in bed and leaned up against the headboard, suddenly weak and shaky as the whole room momentarily started to spin. He shut his eyes, walking himself through his breathing as he let the memories from yesterday wash over him. 

Right. The broken glass, the panic attack, trying to hide and then…

Oh  _ shit.  _ God, what had he done? He couldn’t quite focus, couldn’t really remember where his thoughts had been through the whole ordeal, but it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together as they all came flooding back. 

He couldn’t even imagine how much he’d upset them. God, they were probably  _ terrified.  _ They’d just wanted to help and all he’d done was panic and fought, completely losing control just because of one stupid mistake. 

A mistake that would have gotten him  _ days  _ of pain before…

But it wasn’t like that anymore. He should know that by now. The others tried so hard to help and he still couldn’t even control himself. 

They’d...they’d never seen him panic like that before. He’d definitely done a number on his hands without even realizing, and he’d been too far gone to differentiate between help and punishment. 

They’d thought he was getting better. They often told him how much progress he was making, even if Virgil couldn’t see it himself. 

Well, obviously...obviously they wouldn’t think that anymore. Jesus, he’d locked himself in a  _ closet _ covered in  _ blood _ for who knew how long. 

Honestly, what the hell was the  _ point _ in keeping him? Why would they want him to stick around if all he did was terrify and hurt the people he loved? 

Logan had said Virgil helped them. Roman had once said he made them better. Patton promised they all love him. 

He was having a difficult time focusing on any that right now, forcing himself out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom. 

Virgil took one look at himself in the mirror and quickly turned away, a dangerous wave of self loathing immediately rising in his chest. 

He should probably tell someone about that. Assuming they would still be able to look him in the eyes after last night. 

Besides, he looked awful. His hair was horribly disheveled and his makeup was fading and smeared all the way down his face, eyes heavy and bloodshot. 

His hoodie was neatly folded on the counter, cleaned of any bloodstains, along with a roll of clean bandages and a bottle of disinfectant. 

Good. He wasn’t about to force anyone to take care of him again. 

He changed his clothes and washed his face, not in any particular rush to leave his room, each movement making him more and more lightheaded, his hands protesting every little thing he did.

He couldn’t even put on his makeup, the pain too intense and hands too unsteady when he tried to grab the brush, nothing to hide the natural bags under his eyes, nothing to hide how pitiful and scared he looked. 

It took a good ten minutes to get his bandages off, biting his lip to keep from crying out as he peeled off the paper, grimacing when he saw the far from healed cuts that littered his fingers and palms. 

He’d done that to himself without even realizing it. There’d probably been glass stuck in his hands before someone came along and practically forced him to accept help. And he’d fought back like nothing had changed, like he was being punished, brain running on autopilot. 

God, he was pathetic. Maybe he should just stay up here forever, isolate himself like he used to. He’d never have to be afraid of disappointing anyone again, and he doubted the thought had never crossed the other’s minds. 

It...it wasn’t a bad idea. He hated it, of course. The thought of losing his family hurt worse than rubbing the disinfectant on his wounds. 

He loved them. He loved what he had more than anything. But it wasn’t  _ fair.  _ He wasn’t getting better, that much was clear now. They deserved to be happy. And they couldn’t have that with him hanging around. 

But he at least owed them an apology first. He wanted to make sure they knew they hadn’t done anything wrong. 

So he wrapped up his hands as best he could with fresh bandages, taking a shaky breath before slipping on his hoodie. Pulling up the hood was the best defense mechanism he had right now, and the familiar warmth of the cloth offered a small amount of comfort. 

It was almost eleven in the morning by now, which meant the others already had breakfast hours ago. 

Virgil did his best to convince himself that they wanted to let him sleep in, and not that they just didn’t want him around. 

It was annoyingly difficult to make it downstairs, his head pounding and vision strangely blurred. He almost wished he could just go back to bed and sleep the rest of the day away. 

But he was at the bottom step without even fully realizing he’d kept moving, freezing when he glanced up at the living room. 

Patton, Roman, and Logan were seated on the couch, the TV turned on low to what was probably an old Disney movie, the three very obviously paying little attention to the screen. Patton and Roman were restless, Logan staring blankly, lost deep in thought. 

They were waiting. Waiting for him _.  _ And suddenly Virgil  _ really  _ wanted to go back to his room and sleep for the rest of his  _ life.  _

But that wasn’t fair to them. Nothing he did seemed to be lately. He stepped off the stairs, still using the railing to keep himself balanced, and cleared his throat. 

“Uh, m-morning guys.” He hadn’t meant to stutter, and he winced at how broken and cracked his voice was, vaguely remembering screaming the night before. 

Immediately, all eyes in the room were on him and Virgil had to fight the urge not to flee and lock himself in a closet again. 

“Morning, Kiddo!” Patton moved like he was going to rush over and hug him, quickly stopping himself as Roman put a hand on his shoulder. Right. No one was going to want to hug him right now. “How’d you sleep?” 

Virgil shrugged, staring firmly at the ground and trying not to sway. “Fine. No nightmares this time.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Logan said, standing along with the others. “But you’re likely still exhausted. Why don’t you take a seat?” 

Virgil didn’t see a reason to argue, making his way to the empty armchair, knowing there was absolutely no way to hide how unsteady he was on his feet. 

“Virgil,” Logan said when he was settled, and Virgil braced himself for the worst. “When was the last time you ate?” 

Oh. Right, that would...probably explain his killer headache. “Uh, breakfast. Yesterday.” 

Patton made a startled noise, already hurrying towards the kitchen before Virgil could muster up the strength to stop him. 

The rest of them were left in heavy silence, Virgil refusing to look up from his lap while he absently picked at his bandages, until Patton returned moments later with a piece of bread with jam, and a cup of iced water. 

Ice water in a plastic cup. He tried not to think about the implications of that. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, and tried to ignore the fact that everyone was probably staring at him as he shakily picked up the piece of bread. 

He was starving, but the anxiety churning in his gut was making him feel like he might throw up, and the last thing he needed to do was make another mess. So he ate his food slowly, sipping idly at the water, wincing at the lingering pain in his throat. 

When he finished, he set down the now half empty cut, folded his hands in his lap and waited for the inevitable. 

“Alright,” Logan said after a moment, and Virgil tried not to flinch. “I...believe we should talk about what happened last night.” 

“Logan,” Roman chided, sounding more scared than upset. “He  _ just  _ woke up.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Virgil said. The thought of delaying any longer was somehow even worse, and he didn’t need everyone pretending things were ok when they so clearly  _ weren’t.  _ “We can...we can talk about it now.” 

A part of him, the part that had been in complete control yesterday, expected to be yelled at. He’d ruined their night, their  _ lives,  _ and he had the audacity to come down here like he was still welcome. 

He pushed that voice away, and risked a glance up when he was met with silence, catching Logan sharing a small frown with Patton and Roman. 

The logical side inched closer, taking a breath before speaking again. “How much do you remember?” 

“Most of it, I think,” Virgil said. “I know...I know you guys weren’t, uh, trying to hurt me. For breaking that glass. I mean, I didn’t yesterday but...I know that now.” 

He hadn’t thought he’d needed to say it, but that was quickly disproven by how quickly the tension in everyone’s shoulders suddenly dropped, a watery smile growing on Patton’s face. 

“I must have really freaked out, huh?” Like the loss of his voice wasn’t proof enough, memories of his own screams and his family’s frantic apologies. “I-I’m sorry you guys, I didn’t--” 

“You were having a panic attack,” Logan said, calm as ever. “As well as what were likely some very intense flashbacks. There is no need to apologize for that.” 

“Right.” He was always told not to apologize, not to blame himself. It didn’t get rid of the suffocating guilt. “I’m still sorry. For scaring you.” 

“We were only scared because you were  _ hurt!”  _ Roman exclaimed. “You were practically bleeding out and you didn’t even seem to realize. We’d never seen you that far gone before!” 

Virgil flinched, pulling his knees up to his chest, an old familiar defense. He knew Roman didn’t mean it as an accusation, but the guilt kept curling around him, tighter and tighter. 

“We just want you to be safe,” Patton said, soft and quiet. “We don’t like seeing you in pain.” 

Virgil nodded, not really sure what to say, digging his thumb into the palm of his hand like the sudden flare of agony could be of help. “I know.” 

The room fell back into an awkward silence, Virgil warily shifting his gaze between the three of them, then back down at his own feet, wondering if they were waiting for him to say something. 

“I think,” Patton spoke up after what felt like an eternity. “We should talk about  _ why  _ this happened.” 

Right. Virgil had to tell him that they hadn’t done anything different or wrong, that he was just  _ like this,  _ and it was unpredictable and not worth the effort of trying to fix. 

He opened his mouth to say just that, but Logan beat him to it. 

“We assumed it was the glasses breaking,” he said. “Are we correct in that assumption?” 

Virgil nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment, panic and guilt steadily building up as he half expected to be chided or told off. He’d made so many mistakes since being accepted, something as stupid as breaking a cup shouldn’t send him spiraling like that. 

But Logan just gave a small smile in response, apparently pleased with the answer. “Please understand, Virgil, that it is completely reasonable for you to react so strongly.” 

Virgil scoffed before he could stop himself, startling when there was suddenly a hand gently rested over his. He refused to look at Logan, clenching his jaw so tight he thought his teeth might break. 

“It is,” Patton said from his spot by the couch. “You’d never...broken anything before. The other things you thought you’d be in trouble for were just...silly little things. We get that this might be...a bigger deal to you.” 

“It’s…” Virgil paused, swallowing. “It’s still stupid.” 

“It was a relapse, Virgil,” Logan corrected gently. “There’s no shame in something like this. Recovery is  _ not  _ linear. It never will be, and that’s quite alright.” 

And this...this wasn’ fair. This wasn’t how they were supposed to be reacting. Virgil was horrible. He was terrible and awful and all he did was make everyone stressed and scared and miserable. 

He’d screamed and fought when they were trying to help him, panicked over meaningless things too many times to count, and they still...why were they still being so patient with him? Why were they so  _ nice?  _

Why would they give all this kindness to the person who deserved it the least? 

“Perhaps,” Logan continued, when it was clear Virgil wasn’t going to answer. “We should inform you of what we’ve done in an attempt to ensure this doesn’t occur again.” 

Virgil’s anxiety skyrocketed at that phrasing, wide eyes going immediately to Roman and Patton, but they just offered reassuring smiles and encouraging nods to Logan. 

“The first thing we did was replace all glass cups and dishes with plastic ones,” Logan explained. “However, based on past experience I’ve determined that the sudden noise is also incredibly detrimental to your mental state.” 

“I- I guess--” 

“It’s only a temporary fix, of course, but we had Roman put a rug in the kitchen underneath the cabinets. It’s aesthetically pleasing- thanks to him, and it should muffle the sound if someone happens to drop something. Hopefully, that will alleviate some stress in the future.” 

And Virgil...Virgil kind of wanted to throw up. Because that might be the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. 

He’d fucked up again, showed them that he was unfixable, and they’d responded by  _ remodeling  _ their  _ kitchen.  _

“Of course it is not a- Virgil? Did I say something wrong?” 

Virgil wasn’t sure when he started crying, but suddenly it was all too much, the guilt finally overwhelming. He was so unworthy- undeserving of every kind smile, every gesture, it made him  _ sick _ . 

He shook his head, the only sound he was able to manage being an awful sounding sob that worsened the pain in his throat, but at the moment he didn’t even care. 

“What’s wrong?” Roman was asking, clearly distraught (Virgil had upset him  _ again) _ , and suddenly Patton was in front of him, gathering him into his arms. 

Virgil knew he should pull away, refuse the comfort and distance himself. But he was selfish, melting into the warm embrace with another shuddering sob, unable to stop himself from holding on. 

“Deep breaths, honey,” Patton said, voice barely a whisper. “Can you tell us why you’re upset? Are you just overwhelmed?” 

He shook his head, taking a few desperate breaths, struggling to find his words. 

“It’s...I...you shouldn’t do this. You shouldn’t  _ have  _ to do this. All of this. With- with the kitchen and the cups and the plates--” 

Roman stepped closer, hand on the back of the chair. “Is it not going to help?” 

“It will,” Virgil said, because it was perfect and  _ they  _ were perfect and  _ that _ was the problem. “It will but it...it’s too much, and it’s just a hassle for you guys and I should just--” 

It was Logan’s turn to cut him off, sounding painfully worried. “You...do you think we care more about the cups we use than your comfort?” 

“It’s not  _ about  _ the  _ cups!” _

He pulled away from Patton as soon as he realized he’d shouted, shame now mingling with the guilt, and Virgil had to forcibly remind himself to breathe. 

“Sorry,” he gasped, shrinking back against the chair. “God, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to...I can’t do anything  _ right  _ and I just--” 

“Hey.” Patton cupped his cheek, and Virgil quickly fell silent. “We both know that’s not true. Take a deep breath and tell us what’s wrong, ok?” 

Virgil nodded, Logan and Roman watching patiently, Logan’s hand still gently cupping his own, keeping him from digging his nails into the bandages again. 

After what he’d put them through last night, he needed to just get everything out in the open. The sooner the better. 

“I’m not getting better,” he said, continuing over the expected protests. “I’m  _ not.  _ I know recovery isn’t linear or- or whatever, and you all say I’m making progress but...but last night was  _ bad.  _ And who knows if it’ll happen again, and I don’t...I never wanted to put you guys through something like that.” 

“Virge,” Roman said. “It’s not your  _ fault.”  _

Virgil wasn’t really in the mood to debate that. He couldn’t control it, as much as he tried, but it was still his fault the treatment had ever happened. He’d let himself get hurt, over and over again. 

He shrugged, wiping at his eyes. “You guys are...you...you’re great. All of you. Nobody’s ever...done all of this for me. But I can’t do anything for  _ you  _ except...except make everything worse.” 

“Virgil--” 

“And I get it.” He couldn’t seem to stop now, desperate for it all to be over with. “And I know you all wouldn’t...say anything but, that’s ok. You- you’ve all helped me a lot. And I can...I can go back. I know it’s too much.” 

Roman frowned, and Virgil felt him go very still. “Go  _ back?”  _

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “You know, to...to how things used to be. Me up in my room all the time so you guys don’t have to keep dealing with this.” 

Roman’s eyes widened, sharing a look with the others that could only be described as one of horror. “Virge, we’re not gonna ask you to leave!” 

“I know!” Because that was the whole point, wasn’t it? They would never ask him to do that, no matter how much better things would be without him. They were too good. “I- I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I’m offering.” 

It was the right thing to do. It  _ was.  _ They tried so hard, and they deserved so much better. And Virgil...Virgil was better off alone, anyway. 

It would be ok. It shouldn’t hurt this bad. 

“I love you guys.” It did. It  _ did _ hurt this bad. “I don’t want to make things harder for you anymore.” It felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest. But this was for the best, this was--

There was a hand grabbing his chin, not hard enough to hurt, moving his head up until he was face to face with Logan. Logan, whose eyes were red and watery. 

He’d made Logan upset. He’d made  _ logic  _ cry. 

“Virgil,” he said, never averting his gaze. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Logan!” Patton gasped, and suddenly there was another hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “He’s not angry, honey. You didn’t do anything.” 

“I’m  _ furious,”  _ Logan said, and Virgil’s heart sank until he continued. “I’m furious at whoever left you feeling this way. Believe me when I say I will continue to do whatever I can to undo it. But you, Virgil, are an idiot if you can think for one minute that your trauma is all you have to offer.” 

“Lo--” 

“We love  _ you,  _ Virgil. All of you. That means your past, your mistakes, your relapses, all of it. Because that includes all of the good.” 

“You make us better,” Roman added, sincere and strong. “I mean that every time I say it. You protect us, you bring us closer, and you make us  _ happy.”  _

“I...I don’t--” 

“You do.” Patton was in front of him again, Logan having let go of his jaw. “I know you can’t always see it, but you do. We wouldn’t be complete without you. We  _ weren’t  _ complete until you came along. So don’t you think for a  _ second  _ that we would ever give up on you. You’re worth everything, kiddo.” 

Virgil couldn’t really see at this point, vision blurred completely by the neverending trail of tears, but right now he didn’t really care. The guilt was fading for the moment, that ever present voice in the back of his head finally being silenced. 

“What we’re trying to say,” Logan added, not bothering to wipe away his own tears. “Is that we have no desire to ask you to leave. And at this point, I doubt we’d  _ let  _ you if you tried.” 

Roman’s smile brightened, and Virgil felt himself blush when the prince winked at him. “Yes, we’ve grown rather fond of you, Doctor Gloom.” 

Virgil sobbed again at the nickname, but he was smiling through his tears now, blindly reaching for all of them. And they were there, without even needing to be asked, one last silent reassurance that they meant what they said, that he didn’t need to go anywhere. 

“Come on,” Patton said, pulling away after what might have been hours. “Let’s get you some real food. And I’ll show you the new cups- Logan let us make them pretty colors!” 

For just a second the voice was back, telling him it was too good to be true, that he should duck out now and never leave his room again. 

He didn’t even give it a second thought, brushing the dark thoughts aside and allowing himself to be dragged to his feet, following his family into the kitchen. 

For the moment, even if it wouldn’t last, he let himself relax. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is not a linear process, and you all are just as loved and valid as Virgil <3

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be up tonight or tomorrow <3


End file.
